


Reflection

by Summerfall



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7327354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summerfall/pseuds/Summerfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the looking glass at Mulan's past and her possible happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers:  
> • I have taken extreme creative and historical licence on this story so please do not read if you abide by the traditional Mulan stories with a conservative approach to her history. This is not an attempt to disrespect her legend but merely a fictional approach.  
> • This is the OUAT version of Mulan, as such, I have tried to balance out aspects of her legend with that of OUAT which means I have not given any names to her village, the kingdom or the tribes (although it is implied).  
> • This story takes elements (and characters) from the ballad, The Suit Tang Romance, the Disney Mulan, and the 2009 film, Mulan: Rise of a Warrior, starring Zhao Wei.
> 
> This story came about after ‘Ruby Slippers’ and my love for Mulan and her happy ending. It was only meant to be a short one-shot but developed into something bigger. If you love Mulan as much as I do, I would really appreciate a review (or constructive criticism) as I am extremely apprehensive with the possible reception.

The sound of merriment and raucous laughter echoes behind Mulan as she gazes out at the glittering emerald city sprawled out before her. She doesn’t think much of the Land of Oz, finding it too pretentious and somewhat gaudy for her taste, but there was something about it under the cloak of darkness which softens its edges, a beacon of hope for lost travellers.

Another bout of singing starts, the high-pitch voices of the munchkins loud and slurred by their version of alcohol. Mulan wince at a particular off-key screech which had everybody yelling and rubs her temple, but even she cannot deny them their celebration – Zelena is gone (for now) and their hero, Dorothy, not only alive and awake but with her True Love.

She sensed the connection between the girl from Kansas and the she-wolf before either of them had an inkling of their feelings for one another, hence, her prompt for Ruby to reveal her true nature. It was a sight to behold, True Love’s Kiss, and Mulan counts herself lucky to be able to witness it twice in her lifetime.

Mulan is happy for her friend who has found her place, something which Mulan has yet to find after years of searching, wandering and aiding others with their causes. Standing guard on the fringe of Munchkin Village, she attempts to mask the feelings of emptiness and loneliness the situation has conjured. It’s a long-standing companion she has fought to keep at bay, not knowing where she belonged, with no place to call home. Perhaps this is her destiny, to wonder the world as a nomad. It was, after all, her choice to leave in lieu of carrying around a broken heart (which seem intent on following her).

The memories which are never far from the forefront of her mind, hidden behind a thin layer of guilt and resentment, choose to rise unbidden – of donning the heavy armour and raising the hefty sword, solid and sure in her grip; of stealing away on her loyal steed under the rise of the full moon; of one last look through the wooden slates at her father deep in slumber and praying he will not be disappointed in her.

Her father was a wise and kind man, whose age belied his limber body and grace of mind, whose belief in Mulan spurred her to be more than what others believed of her. While her mother was comfortable in the confines of her role as a woman, ensuring Mulan was well-versed in cooking, knitting, poetry-writing and the arts; Mulan craved the outdoors, of riding horses and climbing trees, swimming through rivers and tracking animals. She dreamt of places far away and would listen avidly to the tales weary travellers would bring in exchange for food and drink – the lush greenery of the Enchanted Forest, the frozen kingdom of Arendelle, the oasis which rises from the arid deserts of Agrabah, the songs which greet visitors in Oz...

She gave her mother’s activities the best of her attention and proved to be a fair cook and weaver; she did not mind poetry, delighting her mother with her linguistic abilities to capture the flowery prose of the female language. However, it was the male language which intrigued her, forbidden to her eyes, but after her father caught her in his study one too many times, he consented to teach her the basics as long as it remained within the confines of the room.

The war took him away from his family after her younger sister, Yulan, was born. He returned whole but broken and there were days when his eyes were so full of grief that Mulan would hold him tight to will away the hurt, not comprehending his sadness. No more children were born into the Fa family after his return, no one to carry on the family name and Mulan sometimes wondered if her father minded the lack of a male heir (and the shameful murmurings it brings) but his demeanour remained the same and no disquiet was voiced.

Her father never spoke about the war which he was a part of, alluding to it only once when Mulan was caught fighting with the local boys who refused to let her join in their game because according to them, a girl is weak and will no doubt lose the game (she proved otherwise and the resulting cries of ‘cheater’ and ‘witch’ as well as a show of physical prowess had two spitting dust and the third smelling of horse manure for days to come). Her mother gave her a fierce beating and while she sought refuge in the barn with tears of anger and hurt on her face, her father approached her silently, regarding her with soft steady eyes filled not with consternation but with contemplation. “Fighting is not the way, there is no honour in resolving conflict through aggression.”

“But you fought in the war, ba ba. Is there no honour in that?”

“There is no honour in war, my magnolia, there is no greater good to be won.” He wiped away the tears on her face with a gentle smile. “However, if you insist on fighting, you must respect the proper techniques and it must be only used in defence. Will you promise me that?”

At Mulan’s enthusiastic nod, the lessons began in the hush of the barn where the art of weaponry and body combat were taught with reverence. The sword, in particular, became Mulan’s weapon of choice. Her extra-curricular activities brought on an unintended change, giving her focus and discipline, enhancing her poise and movement, and sharpening her reflexes. This was reflected in different aspects of her life, in the way she held herself and the confidence it brought; her dancing in particular reaped the benefits, much to her mother’s delight.

When Mulan turned fifteen, her mother decided it was time to find her a suitable match. This started a long line of suitors and arranged meetings. She was prohibited from spending time outdoors in the sun, her mother complained about her darkened complexion and scrubbed her raw with rice bran; her hair oiled and scented until the fumes made her light-headed and the filtered sunlight threatened to set her hair alight; her face powdered and painted until she barely recognised herself. She was swathed in layers of heavy fabric to make her appear slight and delicate (her mother tsking over how men appreciate fragile flowers in bloom. Secretly, Mulan would rather be a weed, resilient in the face of adversity).

Mulan endured this torture for her mother’s sake, knowing this is tradition and the women’s way of bringing honour to the family through a compatible match and by ensuring the future. However, she subconsciously rebelled against it, stumbling over her words and spilling the tea, burning the food and forgetting her steps to stave off the impending suitors who were after name and property, not her. She resisted any attempts from ‘professional’ matchmakers, rolling her eyes at the thought of basing future marriages through an astrologer’s predictions.

Mulan was almost sixteen when a suitor made an advance on her; who took Mulan’s demure rejections as a game until frustration got the best of him and he shoved her against the wall. Shocked by his actions, his hand was halfway down her robe before Mulan grabbed his arm, twisted it back and punched him in the face. “Here’s a piece of advice: when someone says no, they mean no.” Suffice to say, his pride was wounded more than his broken nose but it was Mulan who bought the brunt of the damage as word spread fast, labelling her as someone unfit to be wed.

She knelt before her parents to apologise for disgracing the family name. Her mother shook her head before retreating to the prayer room, where Mulan knows she will pray to the ancestors for help and guidance. Her silence stung and while Mulan knew she did what she had to in order to defend herself, she did not wish to inflict shame on her family. Her father had his eyes closed, the guttering light reflecting off the white streaks in his hair and enhancing the lines on his face. Sadness greeted Mulan when he opened his eyes on a heavy sigh and she felt her heart seize when he raised his hand from atop his walking stick. Mulan flinched, glancing away. The feel of her of father’s calloused hand on her cheek brought her gaze back to him. “I am glad you are safe, my magnolia. He deserved what happened to him. I do not care what anyone else thinks or says. Never doubt that.”

Tears filled Mulan’s eyes. “Thank-you, ba ba.”

To no one’s surprise, suitors disappeared after the incident, not that Mulan minded in the least. If it doesn’t bother her father, it doesn’t bother her. Her mother, on the other hand, is a whole different issue, her desperate attempts at excusing Mulan’s actions to anyone who would listen was salt in the wound for her daughter. By the time Mulan turned sixteen, she had given up on her eldest daughter as anything but a spinster and placed her hope in Yulan, who is two years her junior.

Yulan was as precocious as her elder sibling and a bit too nosy for her own good; she would probably give their mother as much grief as her elder counterpart if it wasn’t for her naiveté and happy-go-lucky attitude which is as charming as it is disarming as she barters her way out of trouble.

She was sitting before Mulan in their room one night, running the brush through her sister’s hair in long, thorough strokes in preparation for bed when Yulan suddenly broached the subject.

“Jie jie, can you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“How to fight.” At Mulan’s surprised look, Yulan side-eyed her. “I know what you and ba ba have been doing, I’ve been sneaking out to watch you. Can you teach me?”

Torn between proudness at her sister’s gall and annoyance by her spying, Mulan set the comb down and indicated for her sister to turn around to face her and flicked her on the nose. “What did I tell you about minding your own business?”

Yulan scowled. “I wasn’t going to tell on you but I want to learn, I want to protect myself.”

Mulan was instantly on high alert. “Has someone been picking on you?”

Yulan scoffed, “No, they know you’re my sister. But… I hear them say things about you…”

Guilt bloomed in Mulan’s chest at how her actions have tainted her sister’s life. “Yulan, it’s not worth fighting over. They are just words.”

Indignation flashed in Yulan’s eyes. “That’s not the point. It wasn’t your fault yet they’re making you the bad guy. How’s that fair?”

Mulan smiled sadly. “It’s not but fighting isn’t going to change that.”

A grunt of annoyance escaped Yulan. “I know – I just want to protect myself, just in case. Plus,” she gave an impish grin, “it’ll make me feel better when I punch those idiots in my mind.”

Mulan grabbed her sister’s hands in her own. “If I teach you, you have to promise to use it only to protect yourself. As father said, words are always to be used before the fist.” Yulan nodded her head, tripping over her promise in her eagerness. “Oh, and you mustn't tell mother.”

Yulan rolled her eyes. “Of course, I’m not stupid.”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

Their realm is simple and prides itself on their weaponry. They are a large kingdom with even larger lands, hence the need to fend off those who may claim it as their own. Neutral as they are, relationships with other realms were perfunctory at best, with easy trade in and out of the realms. The one thing prohibited is the use of magic, sparked decades ago by a shapeshifter which yielded the legendary golden cane and flying cloud. He wreaked havoc and created chaos wherever he went. A monk defeated him, using the shapeshifter’s greed against him and secured a magical crown upon his head, disabling him from magical means. From there on in, all items were locked away and magic banished from the realm; those who wielded the gift lived under major scrutiny until they decided to search elsewhere for an easier life.

Many argued against this, seeing the usefulness in utilising such power but the Emperor remained stoic to their pleas. The tales about the Evil Queen and the Dark One only furthered his decision to keep magic far away – there is no reason to seek them out if they do not pose a threat or have what others crave.

When a kingdom-wide draft was conducted to combat the imminent threat of outlying tribes encroaching their land, the usual debates rekindled regarding the use of magic. Mulan knew it would once again fall on deaf years, she also knew without a shred of doubt of what she must do, even as her father started arranging his affairs.

To her surprise, Yulan waited for her at the gates. The sisters appraised one another in silence, Mulan wondered if she will have to fight her way out when Yulan spoke up. “I’ll take care of them. Just… please –come back home.”

Tears pricked at Mulan’s eyes and proudness surged through her heart, she embraced her sister fiercely. “Please take care, mei mei. Remember all I have taught you.”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

The soldiers were given wooden tags which were to be kept on their person at all times, their names carved into it as a reminder of their allegiance to the emperor and the kingdom. Many choose to decorate it with drawings of their loved ones, etching their families name onto it as a dedication of who they were fighting for and what they have waiting for them.

Mulan slipped into her role with ease and without question, staying quiet on the periphery unless she was spoken to, working hard to blend in and relishing the hard work, finding her mind blissfully blank with exhaustion after the intense training.

Training camp was brutal and relentless, their bodies pushed to the limit and punishing those who cannot take it. Comfort was found in the banter and friendship made in the camp, the understanding that these men may be the people who lay them to rest binding them together in support. Their battalion Commander, Li Shang, is a firm and fair man, unyielding in his values and patriotic to the letter. His rigid form disguised the care for his soldiers and the responsibilities he carried, which saw him distancing himself from the camaraderie which has formed.

The battlefield was ugly and sickening – the destructive force a human being can bring as well as the vulnerability of the human body, torn apart with ease as years of growth and nurture disappear in a blink of an eye. Bodies litter the battleground, mixed with blood and dust to create a constant lingering and horrifying presence which buries its way under the skin.

The first time Mulan killed someone, she hesitated, heart caught in her throat, sword poised to deliver the fatal blow. She saw the look in the man’s eyes, the desperation, and the acceptance, waiting for the blissful arms of death for it must be better than the war zone. He was just another soldier, like her, trying to protect his people with skin and muscle and bone which Mulan cut through with sure and trembling hands, hating herself and abhorring the war. In the end, it was either him or her.

Later, Shang found her near the river, shaking and retching. He handed her a wet cloth without a word and beckoned her towards an impromptu dock, logs lashed together with rope. Sitting down, he indicated for her to do the same and handed her a wooden tag from a pile next to him and proceeded to wash it.

“Do not let the enemies see you hesitate or expose your weakness, they will not fail to kill you and those who count on you. Emotions have no place on the battlefield. The sooner you realise that, the better off you’ll be.” His voice was low and steady, soothing against her jangled nerves.

“I’m scared.” She wasn’t sure her voice carried over the lapping of the water, small as it was.

“You should be. This is what war is. But do not let it dictate your actions. We are fighting our own inner demons as much as we are fighting our enemies. Do not be afraid to fight for your people.”

“That’s not what I am afraid of; I know what I am fighting for. I’m afraid of losing myself.”

Shang paused in his actions, turning to her with eyes so sincere that Mulan felt her throat constrict. “Then you count on those around you not to forget.”

He held up the wooden tag, free of blood and dirt. “You pay your respects for those who have fallen and give a face to those we have lost so they are not forgotten and return them to their families where they will be honoured and remembered.”

Mulan swallowed hard and nodded, feeling drained and wired at the same time, and followed his example. It provided her with something to do, and the trembling in her hands gradually disappeared. They washed the rest of the tags in companionable silence and hung them up to dry on wires strung on poles. A mutual understanding hung between them and from there, respect and friendship started to grow.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

A year in and the war was no closer to finding a resolution; dreams of reuniting with her family became a perishable thought, disappearing with each fallen body. The tears Mulan shed for the dead was replaced by the hollowness in her chest and the dull ache in her bones. She learnt to disassociate herself from the battlefield and compartmentalise her emotions. She was one of the stronger fighters, intelligence marked in the way she voiced her opinions and strategies to her commanding officers. After a particularly ferocious battle where the troops got separated; Mulan led her group into victory, removing one of the enemies’ strong arms in the process. She was immediately promoted to lieutenant.

There wasn’t just power behind the title and position she held, but one which being a man automatically brings. These men who follow her willingly without question, who are loyal to her (and she to them), those who shed their masks before her with their troubles. For in a land of war, what is there to hide anymore? Mulan wondered what the reveal of her identity would bring, whether these men will still stand by her side and fight with her.

The years bled into one another as battle after battle are fought. Mulan proved herself an inspiring leader and strategic thinker and was promoted further up the rank as time went on until she and Shang became General of their own respective division, working together to rid the demons on the battlefield and in their minds. They proved to be a more than competent team, understanding each other’s thought process and actions without a word.

Stories of her conquest became known to her people, bringing hope that the end of the war may be in sight. Tales of how General Fa led 5000 soldiers against 10,000 of the enemies, luring them across the river before ordering her men to destroy the dyke upstream, washing away countless enemy soldiers. Or how in the eighth year, she pursued the enemy for 300 miles in a blizzard to their hiding place and attacked while they were unprepared. 20,000 were killed and 3000 held prisoners.

What the stories failed to mention was how the river ran scarlet, how heavy the smoke burned at the pyre, piled high with valiant warriors and even braver men. Men who had become her family, her brother-in-arms. The innocuous clunk of the wooden tags battled for space upon the wire, an ominous ode to the nightmares imprinted behind closed eyes.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

While there were countless enemies, unsuspecting allies were found on the battlefield too.

Mulan’s troops were leading the supplies to their next destination while Shang’s group was scouting the area up ahead. None of them anticipated the attack.

The tribesmen’s plan was simple yet effective – catch them off guard and destroy their supplies. An indirect attack which would have disastrous consequences for all without food, water and medicine. Those minding the supplies were junior soldiers, new recruits who were still learning their way around the battlefield. The look of shock and horror on their young faces should not bother Mulan anymore but it still spurs her into action, as she planted herself before them, sword at the ready. They were outnumbered two to one when reinforcement came in the form of men clad in skirts, accents thick on their tongues as they came charging in with a war-cry. For a moment, Mulan struggled with the turn of events before realising they were fighting on her side, almost whooping in delight as they sent the tribesman scattering into the winds.

The leader of the cavalry introduced himself as King Fergus of Dunbroch. Despite his intimidating girth, he was a boisterous individual. He fights with ease despite his pegged leg, something which Mulan was curious about as King Fergus offered to share their recent catch. Fortunately, the damage was limited and the majority of their supplies were salvageable.

Camp was made and Mulan learnt of King Fergus’ mission of tracking down a magical beast who took his leg. While Mulan expressed her sympathies, she could provide little information about the beast beyond the fact magic is prohibited in this land. King Fergus grunted in response, knowing it was a long a shot and lamented being away from his family. He proceeded to show her a drawn portrait on weathered parchment, in danger of falling apart from his constant handling, despite his gentleness and Mulan can see the reverence he bestows upon his family.

The portrait showed King Fergus with a graceful woman with long brown hair and kind eyes; between them with wild curly red hair and a mischievous grin was a young girl who is no doubt King Fergus’ daughter. “Me bonny lass, Elinor, and spitfire, Merida.” He said with fondness. “A troublemaker that one, always taking off with her horse and arrow but she’ll make a fine Queen one day.”

“They’re beautiful,” Mulan said.

“Aye, my precious girls, it’s more than I deserve.” Mulan felt a pang at these words, thinking of her father and how he feels about her now after all these years. Does he resent her? Or is he proud of her? Her thoughts must show on her face, for Fergus asked, “What about your family, lad? Are they waiting for you back home?”

Mulan nodded. “I joined the war in place of my father, so he wouldn’t have to fight through another one.”

Fergus beamed. “Good lad. He should be proud of you. You make a mighty warrior and not because of your skills or your status as a general but because you are willing to lead. I saw the way you defended your own men – it inspires loyalty and makes you someone worth following. I would be proud if you were my son or my daughter.” It could have been the shadow and firelight thrown by the campfire but Mulan could have sworn he winked at her.

They bid each other farewell in the grey morning light, clasping arms in friendship. Mulan did not know how to repay them for their help and kindness, such a rarity found in the fields of war. Fergus waved away her thanks. “Maybe one day, when your war is over, I will call upon you General Fa, in friendship.”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

It was a unanimous agreement that General Fa's sword skills is unmatched and it was a longstanding bet amongst her brother-in-arms that no one can beat her (not from a lack of trying as the betting pool has accumulated a handsome amount).

Her match came in the form of a human gazelle, her dark hair wild in the wind as she engaged Mulan during battle, metal clashing together with ringing force. According to later reports, it was a sight to behold; both armies giving their leaders a wide berth as they spun and came together again in an entrancing dance.

The woman bared her teeth in a grin and Mulan didn't know whether she should be angry or amused by the fact that she looked like she enjoyed herself. (It was a challenge which Mulan relished).

Dust rose beneath their feet as they thrust and parried, neither holding back. Mulan was beginning to admire the other woman's technique when the glint of metal from the setting sun blinded her. She expected to feel the slice of steel through her flesh or a blow to her body; instead the mournful sound of the horn, calling for retreat as cavalry arrived. The woman had time to finish her off but instead, she looked almost disappointed as she flashed a grin at Mulan before disappearing into the throng of her people.

"Who the hell was that?" she asked as Shang rushed up to her.

"I believe you have just met the tribal princess, Xian Niang."

Xian Niang, as it turns out, is an anomaly amongst her people, for not only being allowed to fight but to lead her own troop. Mulan was uncertain whether to take her seriously or not as her subsequent meetings felt more like teasing than actual fighting, although there was no doubting the princess' skills.

"I think she has taken a shine to you, General." one of the officers joked good-naturally. "Perhaps you can persuade her to our side if you show her a different set of skills."

"We are not animals." Mulan snapped, disappointed by his comment. He apologised, looking ashamed, which Mulan took some comfort in.

"She's trying to wind me up," Mulan said in private to Shang.

"And it's working," Shang replied wryly as he cleaned his sword in his methodical way. "She's distracting you. Don't -" he held up his hand as Mulan tried to protest, "- disagree. We both know it's true or we wouldn't be having this conversation. Get it out of your system and move on."

When Mulan remained stubbornly silent to rebuke his claim, he passed on a sardonic look. "The point is not to underestimate her. She may be the Chief's daughter but she's risen through a lot of stigmas to get to where she's at. Which means she has a lot to prove."

If Shang only knew how well Mulan understood that. Still, Mulan was under the guise of a man and treated as such. Xian Niang has stepped out as herself and Mulan can only imagine the courage it took (or the freedom she must feel).

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

Smoke still hung thick in the air as Mulan surveyed the wreckage before her, the last flames still feeding off what is left of the buildings, blackened structures fallen upon its foundation. The sound of crying has reduced to whimpers or complete silence, either due to exhaustion or death. The silence is almost as loud as the initial screams of terror still ringing in her ears as countless innocent lives were slaughtered before she could get her army to defend, to save, to avenge those who remain.

The village is a known haven for those who are peaceful and owe their allegiance to no one. Now bodies littered the ground, children huddled in their mother’s embrace while both were slain; a husband and wife, arms outstretched towards one another, searching for one another, even in death. Mulan only hopes they will find each other again in another life.

She felt the air shift behind her and knew without turning who it would be. Shang left to put some semblance of order into the chaos, to help what little survivors there were and to search the area for any signs of the enemy. Mulan should be there with him but he took one look at her and ordered her to take a moment to put herself back together again.

“It was never meant to be like this.” Xian Niang’s quiet voice broke the silence.

Mulan closed her eyes. The anger which had left her blinded had long receded, replaced by a heavy tiredness. “What did you expect when your people attacks an innocent village.”

“Those were not my people.” Xian Niang’s words were tight, pressure building behind the words. “They were my uncle’s. My father does not attack the innocent, he is not that sort of man, he has his honour and moral code.”

Mulan’s turned towards her, eyes flashing open to land on the woman before her. “And what sort of man is that? There is no such thing as honour in war.”

“No, there’s never any honour in war, but it can be found in a warrior. I would not have helped you otherwise.”

There was no judgement in Xian Niang’s words, no favours to be had, only a simple fact. Mulan hated that she was right because in the moment she saw the likeness of her father being cut down, Mulan lost all sense of self and attacked the person beside him without thought. While Mulan’s blind rage lent her more force and ferocity behind her blows, it also made her sloppy, leaving her wide open for the killing stab if Xian Niang had not chosen to disarm her instead, proclaiming she did not kill the elderly man. Without a sword, Mulan would have been content to use her fists instead if she had not caught sight of a tribesman bearing down on a young girl. Mulan was not sure how she got there, only that her body was shielding the child’s, arms up in a futile attempt to prevent the sword from coming down. Xian Niang’s weapon stopped her untimely death, allowing Mulan the chance to get the child to relative safety. The man was cut down by one of his own in the warrior princess, her fury palpable.

“How did you come to be on the battlefield?” Mulan asked in lieu of identifying the twist in her stomach.

Xian Niang gave her a calculating look. “It was my wish and my father allowed it after I proved myself able. Not many people are happy or comfortable with my position, but I have yet to give them a reason to doubt my capabilities. However, I suspect it’s different for you, hiding your identity all these years. It must be lonely.”

Mulan tensed, schooling her features even as adrenaline surged within her. Denial was on the tip of her tongue, ready to shove the accusation out of her but one glance at her face, at the tilt of understanding of her lips and Mulan knew it would be a fruitless endeavour.

“How did you know?”

“I could tell straight away, it was fairly obvious… to me.” Xian Niang added to Mulan’s look of contention. “Men only see what they choose to believe.”

“It is rare to see a woman in armour.” Mulan allowed if only to find something to say amongst the questions whirling through her mind. “Why was it your wish to fight? You do not strike me as someone who delights in bloodshed or you would have killed us by now.”

Xian Niang regarded her curiously. “What is your name?”

“Fa Hu Ping.”

“Your real name.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I would like to address the real you, rather than the mask of you alter ego.”

“And you expect me to trust you so willingly?”

“If what I suspect is correct, then you are after another way to resolve this war peacefully. You would not have imprisoned so many in lieu of killing otherwise. You and I have already seen too many deaths, needless, pointless deaths of good men who should be with their family.”

“Is that why you joined the war? For peace?”

“I joined to prevent my father from doing something irreversible. He is doing what he believes is best for our people, for our survival and livelihood – but this is not the way. I would give my life for my people yet I am drowning in their blood.”

Mulan felt each of Xian Niang’s words, reflected so painfully well that it’s blinding in its understanding. “I did not seek to become a butcher on our land but it’s littered with the bleached bones of so many at my hands.” She confessed quietly. “I’m so tired, I just want to stop fighting.”

_(I’ve lost so many; I’m losing myself.)_

And while it seems foolish and incredibly naïve, the two warriors decided to reach towards a common goal – to gradually build a united front to stop the bloodshed and find peace. Xian Niang will continue to convince her father to negotiate a treaty and Mulan will speak to Shang, hoping he will be open-minded enough to consider it. The general in her laughed at the absurdity of their plan but the daughter of a fallen soldier knew that the war is not achieving anything and if she is to march back home to her family, it will be because she made a difference.

“It's Mulan, my name is Mulan.” She whispers to Xian Niang’s retreating back.

A genuine smile blossomed across Xian Niang’s face, taking years off and softening her expression. “Mulan, your secret is safe with me.”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

When Mulan confided in Shang, he was less than pleased with the news. “Your priority should be with your own people.”

His accusation stung. “It is, it’s all I think about and whose body I will be burning next. This war isn’t resolving anything, and you know it. It has to be a different way. Do you think I’m wrong?”

Shang assessed her in silence. “I think you are being naïve. When you put on that armour, it’s no longer about you, it’s about the nation and if you’re planning on winning this war, you better start thinking clearly.”

It wasn’t until later that Mulan realised that Shang never actually objected.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

Their disagreement became invalid, however, when the tribe chief was "accidentally" killed during a hunting expedition by his brother, Mondu, who took his place as chief. He went on to conquer smaller plains, bringing them under his rule and expanding his forces. Unlike his brother, who was lenient and reasonable, Mondu was not afraid to kill in order to have his demands heeded. His ruthlessness and cruelty bordered on psychotic territory if the information received were even half accurate. He ordered the execution of all male members of his bloodline, from newborns to the elderly, and claimed Xian Niang as his future wife, in order to produce the purest bloodline.

Mulan and Xian Niang had met in secret a handful of times prior to her father’s death when the situation allowed. They exchanged status reports and how they were to proceed with the next battle to minimise casualties. To that end, they were relatively successful. Coded messages in the form of drawings were few and far between in case it falls into the wrong hands. Mulan came to admire Xian Niang’s tenacious nature, her wit and the love she carries for her people. Although Mulan gave less away than Xian Niang, the warrior princess never pressured her, understanding her motives and trusting her judgement. So when Xian Niang disappeared and all correspondence between them ceased, worry gnawed at Mulan.

And apparently Mondu’s influence cast a wider circle than Mulan and Shang first feared. It was unclear whether the commander-in-chief’s betrayal was out of cowardice or duplicity when he left Mulan and Shang’s army for dead and at the mercy of the tribes, with no backup in sight. Mulan had taken several arrows to the chest and was in the throes of delirium from her wounds. Despite Shang’s best attempts to care for her, without their supplies, she and half of their troops would be dead within the next few days. With nothing left to lose, Shang revealed his status as the seventh prince to trade for the life of his army and a physician to help with the injured. It was not until several days later when Mulan was aware of the exchange and lucid enough to order the army homebound, to their protests, while she travelled forward to complete her mission.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

It felt almost comical to slip back into the role of a woman after all these years, releasing her hair from the top knot on her head and unbinding her chest. Mulan took on the guise of a tribal woman, slipping into the grassy outlands without issue, a straw hat covering her face and a heavy package of harvest on her back. Huts and market stalls dotted the main area while plantations flowed through the outskirts/outlying regions. Prominent amongst them, an eyesore of a monstrosity graced the village in the form of a fortress, looming over its residents in a gesture of tyranny and power.

Mulan spent her days amongst the villagers, helping with the labour and remaining as inconspicuous as possible while keeping her ears open and observing the coming and going from the fortress, scanning the plains and mapping the area, canvassing in the dead of night. From what she gathered, the majority of citizens were not happy with their new ruler, implied in hushed voices rather than said aloud in fear of the ears in the wall. The construction of the fortress has severely depleted the already scarce resources. Tax was increased to accommodate the cost of the construction and for those who cannot pay, immediate death was the price if they were lucky. The unfortunate ones have their pain strung out for all to see on the external walls of the fortress as an example of disobedience. The cries could be heard in the dead of night for those who still had the strength to. The guards who were vindictive enough to be in Mondu’s employ would rattle the chains on occasions to send them off their precarious perch, leaving screams of pain and hopelessness in their wake. Mulan had to swallow down the bile of fury at their sick acts of depravity.

There were whispers about an Angel of Mercy who have put several prisoners out of their misery when fate took its time, allowing their souls to move on in peace. No one has seen this entity and Mulan cannot be certain if this was a story made up to soothe the people of how bleak their future has become. She wondered where Shang is held, for surely he would be at the forefront of such a torture but she saw no sign of him, nor of Xian Niang despite her best efforts. It was while she was on one of her lookouts when she saw a figure prowling the prisoner section, providing some with food and water, for others, the relief of instant death. The moon slipped out from behind the clouds and bathed the north end of the fortress wall with soft light and Mulan caught the image of the Angel of Mercy.

Thus, it was a few night later when Mulan scaled the fortress wall under the hanging moon, ensuring her cover under darkness. She was clothed in a black tunic and breeches in lieu of her armour, armed with her trusty sword and several hidden knives. The guards were mid-handover (and mid drink) and the path she plotted provided her with the greatest shadow cover, the uneven exterior wall provided her with the necessary grip to haul herself up. Her half-healed wounds protested at the treatment but she gritted her teeth and pushed on, knowing the alternative if she stopped and quit, knowing everything would have been for naught.

She was greeted at her destination with a fist to her face and an arm pressed against her throat, the force slamming her into the unforgiving stone floor.

“So this is how my uncle responds to rejection. And he doesn’t even have to guts to kill me himself.” The voice hissed, filled with venom.

“It’s me.” Mulan croaked.

The pressure lifted. “Mulan?”

Mulan removed the cloth tied around the lower half of her face to prove her identity which didn’t seem necessary as Xian Niang was already helping her up. “You’re alive. Mondu told me he killed you.”

“We were as good as dead until Shang traded himself for our lives.”

Xian Niang nodded, resigned. “So you’re here for your prince.”

“I’m here to finish the war.”

“Finish? He’s already won.” Xian Niang said bitterly.

“No, he hasn’t. Not while we’re still standing. You can’t give up Xian Niang – fight for what’s yours.”

“How? I’m a prisoner in my own… well, this isn’t even a home.” She gestured wildly at her surroundings, at items of value which mean nothing at all, before folding her arms as if trying to hold herself in, her voice breaking. “He killed my father, he took away everyone I care about.”

“Hey,” Mulan placed a hand on her arm to stem the flow of words and emotions. “Not everyone. And you still have your people. They need you.”

“Mondu has killed or imprisoned anyone associated with me. If I do anything to fight him, he will kill them.”

“Then we will have to get to him before he does. I saw you with the prisoners, how did you get out?”

“There are those who are sympathetic and who do not agree with Mondu’s way but are too scared to speak up. My handmaiden and some of the guards amongst them.”

“And the tribal leaders?”

“Still loyal to my father’s memory but scared of Mondu – he’s got eyes on their families.”

Mulan can see the worry in her eyes, the tempered fear for her people, torn between doing what comes naturally to her and fight or to bow down to the whims of a maniacal tyrant to protect her people.

“Your people still need you – fleeing from this endless battle only makes us lose even more. The future we want? It can still be a reality but we need to fight for it. Will you fight with me?”

Xian Niang took a shaky breath, eyes bright but sure. “You know I will – to the end.” Then more softly, “I’m glad you’re alive.”

They formulated a plan and discussed strategies until the moon began to wane and exhaustion dragged at their bone. Xian Niang insisted on tending to Mulan’s wounds despite her protests, stating she can only rely on her in battle if she doesn’t have to worry about her injuries. Her touch was soft and gentle, reverent as it danced over Mulan’s skin, tracing the scars which mapped her body from the past twelve years and the ones seared into her soul. Mulan shivered and Xian Niang drew back with a soft apology but Mulan brought her back, baring herself in more ways than one, craving an intimacy she has walled herself off from all these years. They shared a bed to rest and for the first time, Mulan shared comfort in the presence of another, the overwhelming sensation of skin on skin and the warm embrace of one another who share heart and mind.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

The next day, Xian Niang requested a meeting with Mondu, citing a change in mind to his ways. Xian Niang wore her most festive traditional garb, a heavy headdress adorned her head along with other ornaments and trinkets which represent one’s status. Mulan, on the other hand, took her place as her handmaiden in a simple cotton dress with a sheer cloth covering the lower half of her face. She stored her knife in her boot and gave her spare to Xian Niang, who in return showed Mulan where to store needles in the hems of their sleeves. They are flimsy but Xian Niang demonstrated the areas on the body in which they inflict the most harm. (“Traditionally women aren’t meant to handle weapons. This is the only way to protect ourselves.”).

A guard came to escort them to the main chamber. Mulan kept her head bowed and followed Xian Niang with shuffling steps. They were led into an open room with the same cold grey flagstones, large windows opened out onto a spectacular view of the village, green hills forming a natural tapestry. The effect was ruined by the shackles interspersed between every second window, some still caked with blood. Shang hung from the one in the centre of the room, arms chained above his head as he swayed on the spot, blood matting his hair and clothes which clung to open wounds; red mixed with mottled skin on his face, an angry palette of colours which did nothing to diminish the look of pure hatred directed towards Mondu, one which promised death in the most painful way.

Mondu lounged obliviously on the fur covered dais, food and wine within easy reach. The tribal leaders knelt in a line before him. At their entrance, he leapt up, looking rather smug with himself as he sauntered up to them. “Have you heard the good news, my dear niece? The emperor has caved in to our demands. Looks like you came to your senses in time.”

“Yes uncle, you were right all along, this is your path to success.” Xian Niang gave a demure bow. “Forgive me for my short-sightedness.”

Mondu waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Such sweet an admission. You allowed your emotion for your father’s death to cloud your judgement. That old man did you no good.”

Mulan saw Xian Niang’s hands clench, even as she kept her expression calm and serene, plastering on a sweet smile. “Of course, uncle. Allow me to make it up to you by presenting our best wine from father’s collection.” At her gesture, Mulan stepped forward with the offering.

“No need,” Mondu growled, pulling Xian Niang roughly towards him. “I rather have you.” And then he was on her, all lips and teeth as he took possession of what he thinks is his. After overcoming her initial shock, Xian Niang gave as good as she’s got, keeping him distracted as she reached into her headdress to retrieve the knife hidden there. Her arm poised to strike, arcing downwards towards his neck when he had her by the wrist, sneering into her face. “Did you honestly think I am that stupid not to see that coming?”

Breathing hard, lips swollen and bleeding from his aggressive ministrations, Xian Niang attempted to punch him with her free hand. She missed as he wrenched her wrist to the side, sending the knife skittering to the ground and Xian Niang to her knees. Mulan launched herself at him, taking him by surprise as she knocked him back onto the brazier, scattering glowing coal.

The guards loyal to Mondu raced forward to assist him. Shang wrapped his hand around his chains and pulled himself up, taking down several guards with well-placed kicks to the head. Xian Niang was by his side, pilfered sword in hand as she took down more of the guards. The tribal leaders had taken one glance at one another and went to intercept the guards at the main entrance, blocking the door to prevent additional back-up.

Mulan and Mondu traded heavy blows, metal singing through the air as sword met knife. Mondu using his imposing size to his advantage and pressed in with his sword; Mulan went slack and manoeuvred out, using his forward momentum to slice through his abdomen. He either didn’t feel it or choose to ignore it, as he grabbed Mulan’s ankle and jerked her back, sending her sprawling to the ground in a stunned heap, his fist making contact to her stomach which left her gasping for breath and another one which glanced off her side as she twisted in his hold but which no doubt bruised a kidney. She lashed out with her other foot, catching him in an upward blow to the jaw. Scrabbling for purchase, Mulan grasped for anything to use as a weapon, her hand stealing across one of the chains just as Mondu reared back, sword at the ready. The chains lashed out, tangling with the blade. Mulan yanked a hard left with the chain, sending both it and the weapon across his face, slashing open his face from cheek to eye, crimson dripping in its wake. He fell back with a roar of pain, grasping his eye in an attempt to stem the flow. Not wasting time, Mulan leapt up as fast as she’s able to wrap the chain around his thick neck, even as he made to grab her. He did not get far as his body jerked when Xian Niang sunk her blade into his heart.

“This is what emotion does to me.” She hissed, eyes hard and full of fire.

Mulan fell back off him, taking her place next to Xian Niang and pulling off the cloth around her face. Mondu’s eyes widened in recognition, staggering back, whether in an attempt to preserve his life or from the shock of the revelation. His feet caught the edge of the dais, sending him off balance as his arms pin wheeled hopelessly. The chains rattled as it followed his body out the large bay windows until it ended with a resounding snap and silence descended.

The two women glanced at one another, multiple emotions vying for attention as adrenaline surged through their system.

The moment broke when the tribal leaders knelt before them. “Hail Chief Xian Niang!”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

There was barely a moment to catch their breath in the aftermath of Mondu’s demise, Xian Niang taking her newly elected position in stride as she rounded up her uncle’s people and set free the prisoners. This left Mulan to help Shang out of his chains and into Xian Niang’s quarters.

“General Fa, you are one stubborn woman.” Shang groaned, his weight heavy on Mulan under his trembling legs.

“You don’t seem surprised.” Mulan said as she eased him onto the bed to tend to his wounds.

“I’m not.”

“You knew,” Mulan realised after a pregnant silence. “But you never said anything.”  
Shang shrugged then winced at the action. “Does it matter?”

Mulan narrowed her eyes at him. “When did you figure it out?”

“When you sneaked into the hot spring in the dead of night.”

Mulan’s mouth dropped open, knowing she looked foolish but not caring one bit. That was the first week of training camp. “You were watching me?”

Shang had the grace to look chagrined. “To be fair, I wasn’t there for the show, although I’ve seen better.” He grinned as she punched him on an uninjured patch of his body. “I was watching the stars.”

Mulan recalled the day as the one where he received news of his mother’s passing. “But you didn’t call me out.”

“It was your choice. You were more than capable. It shouldn’t matter whether you’re male or female. We need more people like you.”

Mulan had always known what she was capable of but to hear it, to know her choices are valid and appreciated – it meant more to her than any reward could bring.

“Cooking could have been better though.” Shang muttered, failing to avoid the wet rag chucked at his face.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

The Emperor forgave Mulan for her deceit; respect and admiration plain on his face as he offered her a position in the royal court as commander-in-chief. Her army pledged their allegiance and it warmed Mulan to know they do not see her any different. While flattered, Mulan turned down the position, only wishing to go back home to reunite with her family, which the Emperor granted.

The announcement was also made of the royal nuptials between Xian Niang and Shang, an alliance between the two lands which will bring everyone together, and more importantly, the peace which they have fought so hard for. That is what Mulan kept reminding herself as she avoided eye contact with the couple, excusing herself as soon as allowed. From what Mulan gathered, the couple will be based at Xian Niang’s residence, overseeing damage control in Mondu’s wake. The hordes of people congratulating her and exalting her values created the perfect buffer for her to escape.

She has completed her duty – the war has stopped.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

She returned home to find it a ghost of what it once was. Twelve years had taken its toll – her father long passed and her mother remarried into another village.

Her sister greeted her at the gate with a babe in her arm. Yulan is now a grown woman with a family of her own.

“Meet your aunt Mulan.” She cooed to her daughter, placing the small bundle in Mulan’s arms. “She’s a hero.”

It was a foreign feeling, having new life literally in the palm of her hands. As the infant gurgled happily, pudgy hands reaching up to snag a piece of Mulan’s hair, she felt the suffocation of what this means; unclean in the mere presence of such wonder.

She was embraced into her sister’s life without preamble, her brother-in-law a loving husband and doting father who understand Mulan’s need for space. Mulan could not be happier for her sister. The easy domesticity should warm her, remind her of why she chose the last twelve years, but it only left her cold and empty; an observer from the outside and the chasm in her chest grew wider.

Her father’s gravesite became her sanctuary, where she prayed for forgiveness, for lying to him, for the lives she could not save. Her tears flowed fast and free, an emotional well of grief and regret. Yulan tried to assuage her guilt (“He was proud of you, jie jie, and knew you would make a difference, but he missed you terribly. He told me to tell you that the most important thing is to forgive yourself.”) and in time Mulan managed to compress it into the recess of her mind.

She wished for her father’s presence, to guide her through the bad days and comfort her with his words. Most of all, she wished he was present for her to talk to and understand. He once said there are no winners in war, or survivors, something which puzzled Mulan at the time when it was obviously not the case. But now she understood, that those who return are empty shells, struggling over the pile of bodies left behind and cleaning the stains refusing to come off. War spares no prisoners. The villagers hailed her as a hero and asked her to regale them with tales of glory. So she spoke of the men who were by her side, who went down fighting for them, she spoke until the words turned to sand, choking her and those around her until they learnt not to ask anymore.

She no longer slept indoors, finding the building constricting, drowning her in thoughts and voices and the oppressing darkness. The open sky welcomed her, the stars a beacon she cannot reach under the watchful eyes of the moon, the fields whispering a lullaby only she could hear.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

Shang visited her a few weeks later.

“Congratulations on your nuptials.” She tried to keep her voice light but Shang knew her too well, can hear the bitterness in the words.

“We all know it’s purely political.” He fixed her with a hard stare which Mulan pretended not to notice. “She misses you.”

Mulan sighed. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Visit her. Talk to her.”

“And then what? We all know what cannot happen. Why make it more difficult? I will not ruin a kingdom because I cannot control my heart.”

“You’re my friend, Mulan. You deserve happiness. We worry about you.”

“Well, don’t be.” She smiled. “I’ll be fine. I spent twelve years on the battlefield, normal life will be a breeze.”

The lie hung heavy between them, the jagged edges awaiting its next victim.

Shang gave a resigned sigh. “Thank-you for everything, Mulan.”

“I trust you, Shang. Just look after her.”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

An envoy arrived several months after the war, with a message from King Fergus asking for Mulan’s help. She made the decision to leave before she even realised it herself. Yulan passed no judgement, only nodded in understanding with a sad smile. “Know you’ll always have a home here, jie jie.”

The day before her planned departure bought a visitor to their residence. Xian Niang was wearing civilian clothes, softening her hard lines and making Mulan ache. They took a walk to the eastern garden where a willow tree swayed gently in the breeze and the spring flowers seem to bow at her presence. It was calm and serene, in contrast to the turmoil of emotions in Mulan.

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye again?”

“I’m sorry –” Mulan started.

“Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I just…” she took Mulan’s hands, eyes imploring as they gazed at one another. “Let’s run away together, some place where no one can find us.”

It was wishful thinking and they both know it, as beautiful and wonderful as the thought is – it’s a life they cannot have.

“You once said you would give your life to end the war.” Mulan reminded her softly.

“My life, yes, but not my heart.”

Mulan closed her eyes against the burning of tears. “I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts, but this is the price we pay for peace, for the fair and just. We did well. Perhaps honour and good cause do exist.”

Xian Niang swallowed hard and laid her hand against Mulan’s cheek. “Honour does not exist in war, it exists in the warrior.”

Mulan leaned into Xian Niang’s hand, one last concession to her breaking heart.

“I will never forget you, Fa Mulan.”

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

Mulan departs the next day with the rising sun, with her trusty stead and a small rucksack with the essentials. The armour welcomed her into its embrace, the metal cool and reassuring against her body; she left her hair down – no longer in need to disguise herself. A new addition graced her wrist, hidden under the armour, a red leather bracelet made by Xian Niang (“It’s called Mushu, it will protect and guide you to where you need to go.”)

She travelled to DunBroch where the wind nips at her face with a refreshing chill and the green hills rolls on forever. King Fergus greeted her like a long-lost friend with a hearty laugh which rumbled through his chest as he crushed her in a fierce hug (“Ah lassie, I knew you were brilliant!”) and slapped her in the back with affection. He asked her to train his daughter, Merida, in the art of war (“You know what it entails and the cost of it. You respect it, which is what I need you to teach her.”) Merida was an able student who was easily distracted, often fuming at the background snarking from the men.

“You need to focus, ignore them and focus and what you need to do. Once you achieve your goal, then you can kick their ass.” Mulan instructed. Merida gave an impish grin in return, readily agreeing. An easy friendship formed between them as they shared many common grounds with their love of the wilderness and physical endeavours. Mulan taught her strategies as well as combat (“Strength can only take you so far, you need intelligence and intuition to win a war.”) When Merida asked about how to lead an army, Mulan directed her back to her father; it was after all King Fergus who pointed out where her strength lied.

Mulan knew something was wrong when King Fergus requested her to keep Merida distracted and at bay on the day of the battle. It wasn’t in her nature to hide during a battle, let alone with someone who is just as passionate. But King Fergus was her friend and she could tell something was not quite right and if she could alleviate his burden by doing him this favour, then hide she will. It was a decision which will forever sit on her conscience as she followed Merida into battle, only to see her friend killed by a cowardly faceless knight, Merida’s cry echoed in her ears. After so many deaths and so much bloodshed, it still leaves a permanent mark on her heart.

She left Dunbroch with another piece of herself missing.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

She travelled to the Enchanted Forest, exploring the realm for a year before she heard about the Yao Gui terrorising her home kingdom. She returned to rid it, feeling ill at ease at being in such close proximity to the ones she cares about. It came across in her sharpness in tone with Belle, who only seek to help and prove herself, something which resonated with Mulan. She returned to help Belle and in turn, allowed Belle to help herself, giving her the opportunity she needed to defeat the Yao Gui. The rest was history. Her plans to mend her heart were foiled by Aurora, who reminded Mulan of Xian Niang’s strength and kindness and she found herself falling through the rabbit hole despite her reservations – her heart is traitorous indeed.

She sought reprieve with Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men, believing their cause to be just. Robin was kind and giving, without expecting anything in return. The men were jovial and loyal, accepting her into their folds without question, indeed, they joked that perhaps they should change their name to the Merry People instead to incorporate her. Despite their easy-going nature and acceptance, it was a temporary balm and the strain to keep a façade up drained her until the itch was too strong to ignore. The cry to run, hard and fast, loud in her ears. Robin and the men were disappointed but knew she was unhappy. They accepted her decision with good grace, promising her a place with them should she ever choose to return.

But from there she spirals, sealing her heart off and working for people of debatable reputation, using money as a motive and relishing the game of cat and mouse. It was a freedom to not have to care, without the need to constantly do the right thing. If she felt any shame or guilt, she buried it in drinks and games. If only her people can see what became of the great General Fa… and it was more of this line of thought which woke her to Merida’s plight, reminding her of the woman she use to be. How ironic that in refusing to acknowledge her heart, she was still ruled by it. She hoped by helping others find their way, she would also find her own direction, to find where she belonged.

 

~*花木蘭*~

 

“You’ll find your happy ending too, you know.” Snow’s voice broke through Mulan’s reverie, the ex- bandit's approach failing to register on Mulan’s watch. Not that there was much to watch out for, other than the talking trees.

“Who says I’m looking for one?” Mulan retorted, wincing at how defensive she sounds. Snow gives her a knowing smile.

“The look on your face, it’s not something you can hide.”

Mulan looks away, hating how obvious she is. “Maybe I’ve missed my chance, maybe there is no happy ending for me.” She confess.

“I refuse to believe that.” Snow replies. “Sometimes we need to take the long way round; and sometimes, it takes time to realise what was right before us.” There was a pause as Mulan took that in before Snow spoke again, more softly, “Maybe it’s time to put your own happiness first.”

Mulan’s head jerks up to stare at Snow, who gave her a serene look full of kindness and understanding. She nods down at the bracelet Mulan was unconsciously playing with during their conversation. “That’s beautiful.”

“It’s called Mushu.”

“Oh, like in the movie!” Snow exclaims. “Except it was a talking dragon.”

Mulan gives her an odd look. It may not be the first time she has heard about movies but it continues to baffle her. “Your world is very peculiar.”

Snow shrugs. “You get used to it. So, is Mushu special?”

“It’s supposed to protect me on my journey and guide me to the right place.”

“And where is it guiding you now?”

“That maybe,” Mulan hesitates and glance at Snow who gave an earnest nod of encouragement. “Maybe home was where it’s meant to be all along.”

_And maybe my happy ending_. A weight seems to lift from within her as Mulan finally acknowledged what she denied all along. Snow seems to have gathered as much if her smile was anything to go by.

She may not pass for the perfect bride or a perfect daughter to the world at large. Those expectations were never true of her. She found herself in the army and lost herself in the war; found herself in the arms of peace and lost herself in heartbreak. She denied herself happiness in the face of the undeserving. Maybe it’s time to help herself and forgive the girl in the mirror.

Maybe it’s time to go home.


End file.
